Chapter Text
“Stop fidgeting.”
“I can’t help it,” Sharon said, walking away from Emily who was trying to straighten out her dress.
“Why are you nervous?”
She didn’t know. Maybe because she wasn’t sure this day would actually happen and here it was and her mind couldn’t stop thinking that there was still a chance Brenda would back out. Rationally, she knew that would never happen, yet she couldn’t stop the thought.
“Mom, get it together,” Emily said, swiping Sharon’s hand away from picking the flowers off the bouquet. “You guys have been through fifty layers of hell. Just go tell her you love her and kiss her, then you can jet off to the airport and on to your honeymoon.”
That was the plan. If she didn’t pass out in a conference room of the courthouse first. They opted for going to the JP to make everything official. Neither one of them wanted a big thing. They’d been living as though they were already married for over a year now.
There was a knock on the door and Sharon took a deep breath. It swung open to reveal Brenda who was wearing a very loud and bright pink skirt with a white silk shirt. The brace had been gone for about four months now. Her body was as healed as it could be and her spirits were as high as ever. Sharon was incredibly grateful for it.
“Ready, Shar?” Brenda smiled and held out her hand.
“Yes,” Sharon said, taking her hand. How could she have thought this would all be another cruel joke? Brenda was her other half.
As they walked down the hall, Brenda pulled her close and whispered, “That dress is gonna make it impossible for me not to fuck you before we go to the airport.”
“Brenda Leigh,” she chastised but they both knew she loved it.
“You just wait, Shar. Two weeks of gelato, you in bed, and the romance of Italy, we aren’t gonna want to come home.”
The gondolier hummed as he guided them down the narrow Venetian canal, his oar dipping in and out of the water with lazy grace. Sunlight scattered across the ripples, bouncing off the stone walls of centuries-old buildings. Sharon rested her head on Brenda’s shoulder, her hand twined with hers, while Brenda shifted slightly, humming too. Something soft and familiar.
“What is that?” Sharon asked, smiling against her.
Brenda’s lips curved. “Little bit of Patsy Cline. Thought you wanted to be serenaded in Italy.”
Sharon laughed, shaking her head. “I wanted gelato, not Patsy.”
“You’re gonna get both, darlin’.” And before Sharon could roll her eyes, Brenda actually started to sing, her voice a little scratchy but full of heart. The gondolier grinned, steering them under a small bridge where their voices echoed, the sound wrapping around them like a blessing.
Sharon felt her throat tighten. Of course Brenda would keep even this promise—the silly one, the romantic one.
A few days later, after Mass at the Vatican, they sat on the wide steps just outside the square, each with a cup of gelato in hand. Pistachio for Sharon, stracciatella for Brenda. Sharon closed her eyes, letting the cool sweetness melt on her tongue while the bells tolled in the distance.
“This,” Sharon whispered, “was worth waiting for.”
Brenda leaned over and stole a spoonful from her cup. “Told ya. Gelato and God, Shar. What more could we ask for?”
Sharon turned to her, brushing a thumb along Brenda’s cheek. “I already have everything I could ever ask for.”
And right there, with Rome sprawling out around them and the taste of gelato lingering between them, Brenda kissed her—slow, sure, and full of the promise she had made years ago.